Family Matters (6 page)

Then, as if he wanted to break the silence he said, “I've got an answer to your question.”

“What question?”

“Whether we're good parents.”

She bit into her hamburger, wiped mustard off her lips with the napkin.

“Remember when I was serving my internship at Parkland and Cody was teething?”

She thought back, then grinned. “Oh, I remember that, you mean when his bottom ones were coming in?”

He nodded, smiling for perhaps the first time in days. “The first tooth. You brought him into the hospital at three in the morning so I could get a look at it.”

“You think that was funny?” She couldn't resist teasing him just a bit. During their married life together, they'd jousted often. “It was better than sitting there on the sofa with him, listening to him cry all night long. Riding in the car always made him feel better. So we rode in the car and came to see you.”

“I thought that was quite the accomplishment, him getting that tooth.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You were so proud. I remember you showed it to every doctor doing night duty at Parkland.”

“They were all so impressed, too.”

“Oh, I'm sure they were,” she said, tilting her head at him and laughing. “I'm sure they'd never seen anything like it before in their lives.”

That was back in the days when I thought I could perform miracles,
Michael thought. “I thought that tooth was the coolest thing.” Then he chuckled. “You know, they always say doctors make the craziest parents. We're even more amazed by all our kids' feats than other people.”

“You certainly were.”

Silence came between them again. It lasted a long time.

“We were good parents, Jen. Maybe crazy sometimes, but good. You were a good mother. You still are.”

She plopped her elbows on the table, chin in palms, surveying his features, honestly surprised at his words. Honestly surprised at how comfortable she felt with him. His face was familiar to her yet it was different, too, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes where wrinkles hadn't been before, deep lines around his mouth that spoke of his concern for his patients and of his painstaking work.

Their eyes met. She looked sad. “I just wasn't a very good wife.”

He didn't answer. Lots of water had gone under the bridge. There are always two sides to everything. And it didn't really matter because it hadn't been her fault. They had both decided, a long time ago, that it would have been better if they hadn't married one another in the first place. Each of them had been sailing in a separate direction, seeking dreams and a life, each of them unavailable when the other needed support. They'd both been very, very young.

He fingered his paper cup. “Those days don't matter anymore, do they?”

She shook her head. She didn't know what she could say. And then she looked up at him again. “Yes. I think they do matter. We had some good times together. We both got Cody out of it. They matter because they remind us that neither one of us was to blame.”

“Or that both of us were.”

The silence came again.

“Come on,” he said finally, laying two quarters on the table for the busboy who was mopping tables with a rag. “Time to go home.”

She pulled on her jacket and heaved her bag over one shoulder and walked beside him, still quiet. At last, just as they arrived in the lobby, she touched his arm to stop him.

“What is it, Jen?”

“I blamed you for this, Michael. I blamed you for everything that's happened to Cody.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know that.”

She had to say the rest of it. She knew him so well from so long ago. And she could see it in his eyes. “And
you
are blaming yourself, too.”

He stared straight ahead, out the plate-glass window toward the parking lot.

“There isn't anything you could have done.”

He glanced at her, acknowledging her absolution but knowing it wasn't going to be that easy for him to accept forgiveness. He let her lead him to a row of chrome chairs lining the wall. They sat.

“I had to blame somebody, Michael. And you were the one who was there, flesh and blood, standing in the room with me.”

“Do you know what I would give,” he asked, “if there had been something…anything…I could have done for him?” He stared at the ceiling, at the splotchy drywall there, seeing only his son's little body and the babysitter's frightened face when he rushed in from the hospital to them. “I would die myself if I could trade that for what's happening to him. I ought to have been able to see it, to stop it.”

“Some things just happen.”

“I don't know about that.”

“I'll always have questions about this,” she told him softly. “But they won't be questioning your abilities. I have faith in everything you did for him, Michael.”

He gripped her hand and looked at her for the first time in long minutes. “Will you, Jennie? Will you have faith in what I have done? In what I didn't do?”

He was such a strong man one moment, more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him the next. Without even thinking, she went to him, to let him hold her when he held out his arms. “Michael.” She stroked his hair the way she would have stroked it every night if only he'd been able to stay beside her, if only he hadn't always been called to duty at the hospital. If only she hadn't been so young when they'd married. If only she could have understood then what he had to do.

C
ody Stratton knew exactly when Andy was going to come in every day. He loved to hide from her and make her laugh. He'd groan when he saw her opening the door and then he'd do his best to burrow down into the covers so she couldn't find him.

“Guess where I am,” he'd say, doing his best not to giggle. But she always found him no matter what he tried. Then, after she did, it was always the same, up and down…up and down…up and down…his knees and legs folding up accordion-style against his belly while she worked with him.

“Now. You do this at least three times a day,” Andy always told his mother. “You've got to work at this to keep him from getting so stiff. When you work with his hands, you want to move your fingers in a circular motion like this, relaxing his fingers apart instead of prying them. When you stretch his neck, you want to move it in a circular motion, too, like this….”

Cody's mom always wrote everything down. There was no way she could remember all this stuff if she didn't. At least, he didn't think so.

“I just realized,” she said once to Andy while Cody watched her, “you don't give any review questions. You just plow into something new every time I see you.”

“When you're working with his elbows, you want to rotate the movement just this way….” Andy kept right on going.

“Hey,” Cody said to both of them. “This isn't fair, y'all. All Mom has to do is write down the stuff. But I'm the one who has to
do
all the stuff.”

“You!” His mom bent down close to him and kissed his nose. “You're doing a
great
job! You're doing the hardest work of all and we know it.”

Cody loved the way his mom smelled, like roses and outside. Andy smelled good, too, but his mother was special. He loved the way she told him he was doing his hardest work. And, best of all, he loved it when she cuddled with him now, though he knew he was getting much too old to admit that.

“You're getting your tone back in your arms,” Andy told him. “It won't be long before you're
swimming.
”

“Yeah.” Swimming sounded like the best thing in the world after lying in bed for so long. He listened while she told him all about her brother Mark and what he did with kids in the water. She told him about a little girl named Megan and how working in the water had helped her to be able to use her legs again. All the while Andy kept working on him and moving his arms every which way while his mom took enough notes to fill a book.

He was the first one to see his dad standing in the doorway looking at his mom. “Hi, Dad!” he hollered so loud he made his mom jump. “Dad's here!”

“Hello, kid.” His dad walked straight to the bed and gave him a hug. Cody knew his dad was pretending that he'd just gotten there. He wondered how long his father had been standing at the door watching them.

“You're sweating,” his dad said.

“That's because I'm doing therapy.”

“And doing a good job of it,” Andy said as she laid his leg down and covered it with the blanket. “He's doing great moving his arms. They're loosening up nicely.” She touched him lightly on the nose. “Time for a break now, kiddo.”

“I get to go to the therapy gym tomorrow,” Cody told his dad. “It'll be my first time.”

“Good for you.” And, for a moment, because his dad hesitated, Cody thought that he might not know what to say. “…I think that's great. I wouldn't expect a patient to do as well as you've been doing.” He bent over the bed and gave Cody several well-placed tickles right on the ribs as Cody rolled onto his side in a fit of giggles. “Stop doing so good! You're doing too good!”

“I can't
help
it,” Cody squealed. “It's just happening.”

Jennie sat and watched her sleeping child for a moment, watching the flicker of lashes on his slightly flushed cheeks and the rise and fall of his small chest. “He's doing so much better than they thought he would,” she said after a long silence. “Thank heaven for every breath that little boy takes.”

“Do you really mean that?” Michael asked, because it suddenly seemed important to know where she was coming from. Was she really thanking heaven? He didn't know if she'd ever have much trust in God.

He searched Jennie's face, thinking how different his ex-wife looked. Their eyes met and held.

“So,” he asked at last. “How, exactly, do you go about learning all this?”

“I've got outlines of the therapies we're supposed to do with him when we get him home. Or—” she corrected herself, realizing what she'd said “—when
I
get him home…and
you
get him home. I'll never remember all this stuff if I don't take notes.”

Michael swallowed. Hard. Just looking at her he felt off-center. All he wanted to do lately was be around his ex-wife and do things for Cody. “You want to show me those notes? Are you up for another cafeteria hamburger?”

She almost said yes. But then she allowed a slow smile to lift the corners of her mouth. “You want the truth? The
real
truth?”

He grinned, too, a warm, full smile that made her heart feel as if it were flopping in somersaults. “Say no more. I don't want to hear the truth, that you'd like to go down to the cafeteria and slaughter every single one of those hamburgers with a shotgun.”

“Okay. I won't say it.”

“That's it, then.” He stood and helped her up. He had half a mind to suggest they eat out somewhere. But, calculating the days since he had last eaten a home-cooked meal, he said instead, “Let me cook something for you.”

At the mention of a meal at a real table with real forks and glasses instead of paper cups, Jen's eyes widened. “It sounds like paradise.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let's do it.”

He drove her in his car, all the while intensely aware of her sitting beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes cast upward through the sunroof. It seemed like forever since they'd driven along together like this, even longer since the two had cared what was happening in each other's life. For one brief, insane minute, Michael found himself wishing he could reach across the front seat and take her hand.

But they'd been married once and it would mean too much. He concentrated on the expressway, both hands gripping the steering wheel. He could think of nothing to say.

Finally they pulled into the driveway at his house. The garage door rolled open for him. He fumbled with the house key, displaying nerves. She followed him into the house carefully, holding her handbag in front of her. He strode into the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. “Look what we've got here. Moldy peas. Some macaroni and cheese wrapped in a Baggie. Half of an overripe cantaloupe.”

“Very appetizing,” she teased. “If you really want to know the truth—” she told him candidly “—it
still
looks better than the cafeteria hamburgers.”

“Trust me,” he said, shooting her a little grin. “I'm going to find something that's edible. It'll just take a minute.” He poked his head farther into the fridge.

“Don't let anything attack you in there. Some of it looks deadly.”

“This is it. Here. I've got it.” He pitched out an unopened package of flour tortillas, a tomato, a head of lettuce that was a little wilted but would do, and some salsa. “I've got chicken in the freezer and I can defrost it. We'll have
fajitas.
It won't take long.”

“Thank you,” she said, laughing. “I would have killed you if you had gotten my hopes up for nothing.”

They set to work, side by side. She chopped the lettuce into little strips and diced the tomato while Michael took care of everything else. She didn't look up when she heard him go out onto the patio to start the grill.

Now that he wasn't standing within feet of her, she contemplated how odd it felt to be cooking with Michael in his kitchen. It felt right. And wrong. And funny.

Michael wandered back inside looking for a match to light the grill.

Jennie dissected the tomato perfectly, paying close attention to the little squares she made, trying to ignore her response to Michael's presence. After almost two weeks spent discussing Cody, she couldn't think of one thing to say.

“I had to get the matches,” he said. “Can't start a fire out there if I can't find the matches.” For a moment he just stood there, watching her with her head bowed over the tomato and all the wheat-colored hair flowing down her back. Then, as if in a vision, a memory came back.

It had been their first night in their tiny apartment in Highland Park. He'd come home to find her standing much as she was standing now, her long sheet of hair gleaming down her back, her head bowed. But when she turned to welcome him home, he could see she'd been crying.

“Where were you?” she had asked. Only then had he noticed the time, how late he was.

“I had a patient come in with an infection. A man who had abdominal surgery last week. They had to operate again.” He glanced at the clock above the stove. He thought again how late it really was. It was already past nine-thirty.

She turned back to the counter as he hung up his coat. And, this time, when he looked at her, the sniffing had turned into sobs and her shoulders were shaking. “I w-wanted d-dinner to be so g-good…”

“Jen. Baby.” He remembered moving across the kitchen to gather her into his arms. He remembered her lying her head against his shoulder. “Don't be mad at me. I should have called. I will next time.”

“I—I'm—not m-mad at y-you…” she'd wailed. “I'm mad—at—that—s-stupid—stuff…” She'd pointed to a big pile of goo in the sink that looked like it had been spaghetti once. Now it was charred on one side and sticking straight up like quills on the other. “I'm—n-never—going to—cook—ever….”

To his credit, it was one of the times of his life he had done the right thing by her. She was only twenty-one and he knew how important it was to her to please him. He hadn't even cracked a smile. “I love you, whether you can cook or not. I love you, Jen….” He'd stood there for what seemed like forever just stroking her hair. Then, after he'd helped her throw the horrible stuff away, they'd ordered out for pizza, which they'd eaten picnic-style on the floor next to the fire.

What was it about today that made him remember the first few romantic months of their marriage? he wondered. Matches in hand he turned away from her, went back outside and started the grill.

Twenty minutes later they were munching away at the kitchen table.

“It's good,” she said. “Better than good.”

“I think so, too.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms up around the back of his head and crossing them there.

Her eyes met his. “Thanks.”

He'd been married to this woman for six years. She'd always been pretty. But what he saw now was something more…something mature…and full and strong. Maybe, he wondered, he was just recognizing those qualities for the first time, seeing how she was devoting herself to Cody.

“So when are you going to use all those notes you took and start teaching me how to do therapy?”

“Anytime you want.”

“As soon as we can,” he said.

“That's fine with me.”

One beat. Another.

“We should get back,” she said finally, jumping up to begin gathering silverware and plates. “Cody'll be awake.”

Michael stood quickly to help her. He stacked the glasses, then went to the sink beside her. They stood shoulder to shoulder. He set the glasses down. “Jen?”

“Yes.” She turned toward him.

“Do you know,” he whispered to her. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't made so many mistakes with each other.”

He heard her intake of breath, saw the emotion begin to pool in her eyes.

“Sometimes,” she said, her voice as gentle and as smooth as her fingers would have been if they'd brushed against his skin. “I think about that, too.”

Her hands were still in the sink, wet from the running water, but he didn't care. He took them, suds and all, into his own and held them there.

When he pulled her to him, it was the first time in years, even when they'd been married, that she had felt so totally protected in his arms. He gripped her to him now as if he would never release her, ever. She could feel the solid pumping of his heart against hers.

She didn't pull away for the longest time. But she didn't turn her face up toward his, either. If only they could make this moment last forever. But they couldn't. They had hurt each other too much for that.

“Come on,” he said to her as he let her go. “Guess I'd better get you back.”

Buddy Draper sat in the front office of the Dallas Burn fidgeting like a little kid. He straightened his tie. He stretched his legs. He crossed his ankles. He wished he had worn a polo shirt and casual pants instead of this suit.